


Make the Yuletide Gay

by obliviateme



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cats, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:17:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviateme/pseuds/obliviateme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry thinks he has the best present for Louis. Louis thinks he has the best present for Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make the Yuletide Gay

**Author's Note:**

> for Erika, the best friend I could ever ask for <333 Merry Christmas my mermaid love!

Make the Yuletide Gay

12.13-16.2015

 

 _Come on now try and understand_ __  
The way I feel when I'm in your hands  
Take me now as the sun descends  
They can't hurt you now  
They can't hurt you now

“Because the Night”, Bruce Springsteen

 

 

Harry treks his way to bed in high spirits the night before Christmas. The only noise in the entire house is the sound of Louis’s soft, steady breathing from his side of their king-sized bed. Snow falls slowly outside the window and he hates having to get up to pee in the middle of the night – he’s always afraid he’ll disturb Louis. But he just reminds himself of the time he somersaulted off the bed and nearly cracked his skull open on the antique armoire that was a housewarming gift from Louis’s mum Jay. Louis didn’t even bat an eyelash, let alone wake up, until Harry let out a yell that woke up the whole neighborhood.

 

“Ahh,” Harry hisses as his bare feet hit the cool marble tiles that Louis picked out from the local hardware store’s online catalog. Special order, because their Snow Drift didn’t come in quite the right measurements. Harry insisted that any color was fine, or even carpet would do, or bare floors. Some rooms and details Harry cared more about than others, but most of it didn’t matter to him as long as Louis was there. But Louis cared about _everything_. So Harry let him have his way, because Louis is sunshine in human form.

 

Harry tip toes to the bathroom, a part of him still convinced he may wake up the sleeping bear. _I mean, who knows, the metal railing is loud when knocked into, and I can barely see._ He’s still thinking about accidentally waking up Louis as he lets go and relishes in the feeling of peeing. After all these years since they formed the band, he still finds comfort in the solitude of shutting the bathroom door behind him. His love for the other boys could crumble mountains, but he had _some_ boundaries, unlike Louis and Liam, who never seemed to mind having a wee when someone else was around. Outside, sure. But there are hinges on doors for a reason.

 

Harry thanks the soft seashell nightlight for illuminating the bathroom just enough for him to see what he’s doing. He catches a glimpse of himself in the cabinet mirror and picks a piece of confetti out of his hair. Louis’s 27th birthday party ended hours ago, having come to a smashing conclusion when Louis saw Lottie throwing up their gin in the porcelain kitchen sink. Harry shakes his head back and forth and tries to rid his hair of any confetti stragglers, and soon he’s tiptoeing back to Louis. He stops for just a second to place cold finger pads on the skinny floor to ceiling window right outside their bedroom. Snowflakes flutter around a gray sky, adding to the nice little fluffy hats on top the bushes in their yard. He wonders if tomorrow will be the day. Or, today, technically. They have their own place. His man is 27 already. They’ve discussed children. So why in God’s name has Louis not proposed yet? Harry runs his forefinger down the glass. It squeaks in protest and he twists his head around to see if Louis stirs at all. But he doesn’t, just groans and mumbles a little high pitched something that makes Harry’s heart yearn to be pressed up against him again. But he stands there and watches the snow fall on the trees and the pathways and their cars down below. He could ask Louis himself, he supposes. But Louis said something once that’s made Harry wait, and now every time Harry logs onto the Cartier website he hears Louis’s voice in the back of his head, on the back of the tour bus their last year out on the road, muttering low with Liam.

 

Harry had been pretending to sleep under his magenta blanket that Niall had tucked in around him what seemed ages ago. Well, not pretending to sleep, actually. He was almost asleep, but he started pretending to be fast asleep and even faked a little snore when Liam and Louis’s conversation turned to their life after tour. After the band.

 

“What do you mean, what am I gonna do?” Louis hisses loudly. The man literally has never had an inside voice. Harry would roll his eyes if they weren’t already closed.

 

“Like, are you gonna keep it hush hush, or…?” Liam trails off. Harry can barely hear him, which makes him wonder, not for the first time, what other quiet conversations he’s missed out on over the years.

 

“Why would I do that?” Louis asks. “You think I’m some kind of closet case?”

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, you tosser,” Liam says. “You know what I mean.”

           

“Well I’m not obligated to tell the entire world I’m giving him a ring, now am I?”

 

Liam makes a noise like a startled cat, somewhere between a squeal and a hiss. “You’re –” he leans in so close Harry can’t hear him anymore, but the next mumbled word definitely has three syllables.

 

“Well, no shit,” Louis says. “He’s not my mistress, Liam.”

 

Liam snorts. His voice grows louder again. “Would make a damn right sight of it.”

 

Harry never got to hear anything else of the conversation – that he was 97% sure was about Louis proposing to him – because Niall let out the loudest sneeze in the history of bodily functions, and the pair started giggling and eventually delved into a discussion about Zayn texting Liam shirtless pictures again. Harry lay there breathless, wondering if Louis was serious.

 

But why would he joke about something like that?

 

 _But why would he have waited all this time?_ The doubtful voice in Harry’s head asks. _It’s been years. You have a house together._

_Shut up_ , Harry thinks to himself, and crawls back into bed. He tucks his butt right up into Louis’s crotch, lifts Louis’s heavy arm up, and places it snug against his chest where his own arm is curled up.

 

_You could just ask._

_But what fun is that?_

_It could’ve been any day these past couple years. Why would it be tomorrow?_

_He knows Christmas is your favorite._

_Yeah, but –_

 

“You’re soft like a pillow,” Louis breathes hot in Harry’s ear.

 

Harry grins ear to ear and turns around just close enough to brush his lips against Louis’s scruffy chin. “I love you,” he mutters, and if he was in any clearer of a state of mind, his own voice breaking might make him laugh.

 

“Mm, love you too, sweetheart,” Louis mumbles, sleep drunk.

 

Harry drifts off fast in his arms.

 

~*~

 

Christmas Eve turns into Christmas morning with the quiet snowfall and, more notably, Louis’s warm body rolling halfway onto Harry’s side and stoking the little fire between them. Harry pries open his tired eyes to find Louis kissing a lazy pattern down his arm.

 

“Happy Christmas,” Louis says, voice cracking in earnest when he realizes Harry’s awake. Harry doesn’t know how Louis realized this, because his eyes are mostly closed and his long lashes are pointing down toward Harry’s Bible tattoo.

 

“Happy Christmas, love,” Harry mutters, grinning as he flops onto his back and gets trapped under Louis’s arms that stretch out either side of him.

 

“Hullo, hullo,” Louis says. He bends down to brush a day’s worth of kisses over Harry’s forehead and temples and in his dimples. Harry dissolves into laughter and squirms between the barrier of Louis’s arms.

 

“Stop it,” Harry groans, reaching up sightlessly to pull Louis down to him by the back of his neck. The sunlight shines bright in Harry’s eyes as he tilts his head and kisses Louis hard.

 

“Frisky for the morning, are we?” Louis asks.

 

“You started it,” Harry says, and puts on a little pout.

 

“Alright,” Louis says. “You are tempting, but we’ll save that for after lunch. Breakfast. Whatever. First, I want to show you your presents.”

 

“Wow,” Harry says, trying to stretch and knocking Louis half off the bed in the process.

 

“Ahhh!” Louis yelps as his foot lands rough on the hardwood floor.

 

“Must be some presents,” Harry snorts.

 

~*~

 

Louis leads the way downstairs, bobbing his head left and right as he anticipates Harry peeking around his shoulder toward where the modern white Christmas tree sits in the corner of the living room.

 

“Lou, I know what downstairs looks like,” Harry complains. “Let me have a look.”

 

“Why would I do that?” Louis asks, pressing fingertips to his chest in mock offense. Santa might have brought you something in the night.”

 

Harry snorts. “What, did he just bring you lumps of coal then? I’m the only one who gets presents from Santa?”

 

“Ooh,” Louis coos. “ _Lumps._ Plural. Even when trying to insult me you do me good.”

 

“Louuuu,” Harry whines.

 

“Shh, almost there!”

 

When they make it to the living room, Louis beams at Harry as he curls up on the giant-sized squishy red chair. Louis skips over to their polka dot record player and starts spinning Frank Sinatra’s Christmas record.

 

“Ready for your first present?” Louis asks, gesturing toward the tall white tree with a couple wicker baskets that lay underneath, dedicated to their presents for one another.

 

“What time is it?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes through a grin.

 

“Er… nine, I think.”

 

“Woah, nine,” Harry says through a laugh. “We just about missed Christmas.”

 

“Just about,” Louis nods, swaying his hips to the beat of Jingle Bells as he approaches Harry on the puffy chair. “May I have this dance?”

 

Harry stands up. He looks down at his plain white T-shirt with a handful of holes – which Louis loves and calls _artsy_. He looks Louis up and down, small black V-neck hugging his torso with his maroon jacket hanging off his shoulders. His plaid pajama bottoms brush the tops of his toes as he walks toward Harry. The music courses through Harry and speeds his heart rate up, and it’s all he can do not to rush forward and snog the living daylights out of the scruffy man standing across from him. Well, when’s a better chance to dance going to come along?

 

“Let’s dance,” Harry says, and slides his hand into Louis’s. They waltz around the living room for at least two whole songs, hearts pressed close together. Louis rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder as they turn, Harry directing them farther and farther from the Christmas tree so they don’t knock it over and have to spend the day sweeping up glass ornaments.

 

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” Louis blurts out some seconds later, dragging Harry by the hand toward the tree. “This one is yours.” He bends over to retrieve a small square package and trots over to hand it to Harry, who’s plopped down on the plush carpet now.

 

Harry rattles it a bit before beginning to unwrap it, lopsided grin spreading across his face.

 

“Go on, go on, I can’t stand it,” Louis says.

 

“Lou,” Harry giggles.

 

“What?”

 

Harry shakes his head as he takes apart the packaging. “Nothing. You’re just the cutest – oh, wow – thanks, babe!”

 

He’s holding a 6 ounce bottle of YSL’s Black Opium 2 in his hand, and it’s heavy – it feels like he imagines a lump of coal would feel, only it smells delicious and it’s much more expensive and Louis must have gotten the extra ounces made just for him. He knows what Harry likes and things like this are a little reminder that he pays attention.

 

“Of course, babe,” Louis says through the world’s most gigantic smile. He’s bouncing up and down on the carpet. “I hope you like it.”

 

“What do you mean?” Harry laughs. “I love this stuff. You see me spritz it all over my wrists every time we go to a show. In fact, the last time that happened I distinctly remember you licking my wrists afterward, and unless that was some kind of spur of the moment kink, I’d dare to say you love it too.”

 

Louis smirks. “But that was Black Opium 1. This is 2, and you know, you have a thing with fragrances smelling different at home than they do at a show. I dunno, I dunno, alright, time for the next one, shall we?” As he talks he’s ripping open the packaging and spritzing Harry’s neck with the cologne. He waits approximately a second and a half before leaning in to lick up Harry’s neck where he just sprayed it.

 

“I think you got this for yourself,” Harry laughs, but he’s shivering as he pushes Louis back and kisses him against the edge of the couch. He pulls back just enough to say, “You’re the most important thing I get each year, you know.”

 

“Well,” Louis says, trailing off and pursing his lips together.

 

“It’s true,” Harry says as he hands Louis his much larger, and much more explicitly shaped present.

 

“I have no idea what this could be,” Louis says. Harry cringes as his boyfriend tosses the heavy bottle back and forth in his hands. “Certainly not… wine?”

 

A quick unwrapping session leaves Louis breathless and Harry blushing.

 

“I thought you knew what it was,” Harry says in a quiet attempt at mocking.

 

“Domaine de la Romanee-Conti? Shit, I thought I knew what it was, too – Christ, this is like, the most expensive wine in the world,” Louis says, sounding airless.

 

“It’s for you, babe,” Harry says, and now he’s the one who can’t wipe the smiley smirk off his face. “Now if only I’d have gotten you some fancy kitchenware so you don’t get caught with your pot in some old Tupperware anymore. It’s just embarrassing. Ruining the family name.”

 

Louis jaw drops. “You didn’t actually get me pot bowls.”

 

Harry snorts. “No, but maybe that’ll be next.”

 

The next present Louis opens from Harry is a long navy bathrobe complete with his embroidered initials. Next, Louis is handing Harry another tiny package.

 

“Are we just gonna one up each other all day?” Harry asks faintly, peeling away the striped wrapping paper.

 

“Isn’t that what Christmas is all about?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

Harry tears off the packaging to find a small jewelry box in his hand, shining rose gold in the light streaming through the window. It’s so tiny; Harry doesn’t imagine it could hold too much. A little key that goes with it falls out of the little bag Louis wrapped it up in. Or, actually, Fizzy wrapped it up in, more like. And the top has some curly designs carved into the edges. Harry’s heart nearly falls out of his chest.

 

“This must have cost you a fortune,” Harry whispers. Is this what he thinks it is? He turns the tiny key in it and peeks inside, but it's empty. Harry doesn’t have that much jewelry, just the one cross necklace and some rings, which he already has an organized ring box for. Why does he need this? For his contacts? Guitar picks? Golden bedside condom box? He may faint, and the way Louis is gazing radiantly up at him from under those long lashes is not helping. What did Harry do to deserve someone so wonderful and thoughtful and sweet?

 

Halfway through his heart melting into a puddle of gold and leaning forward to kiss Louis on the lips again, his loud ringtone goes off. It’s an edit one of their brilliant fans made of their song Olivia. This newer, better version consists of the trumpeted chorus Harry always dreamed of for the song. The second Harry heard this fan edit he knew the song was complete, and he’s had the trumpeted chorus as his ringtone ever since.

 

And it’s a great song; obviously, it’s his favorite, but not now, Jesus.

 

“Not now,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s mouth, warm from soft open kisses.

 

They let the ringtone end, with one last trumpet flourish, and Louis is on his knees trying to press Harry back into the floor. Harry’s palms skid backwards on the carpet as Louis kisses him with increased fervor, square hands wrapped around the back of his neck as they lean.

 

And the ringtone goes off again.

 

_I live for you, I long for you…_

And there’s a knock on the door.

 

_Don’t let me go._

And then a series of knocks.

 

“Bloody – really?” Louis mumbles as he breaks apart from Harry. “Who is it?”

 

Harry clears his throat a couple times, trying to blink away the arousal he’s sure is clear from just a quick glance in his eyes.

 

_Knock knock knock. Knock. Knock knock._

“God,” Harry mutters. He hangs his head and rubs his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “I know what it is. I – hold on.”

 

“What?”

 

But Harry is already jumping to his feet and trotting toward the front door. Louis hears Harry slide his big feet into his Lisa Simpson slippers that Jay got him for his 24th birthday.

 

“You’ll love it,” Harry hollers behind him before he swings the door wide open and shouts, “NIALL!”

 

“Niall?” Louis says, scratching his head where he sits, still propped up on his knees in utter confusion. He stands up and crosses his arms, expecting that he should at least look semi-pleasant when Niall walks through the door. He doesn’t particularly like getting interrupted from snog sessions – meaningful ones, at that.

 

“Here, I got everything else in me car out front, but here she is,” Niall says, and then there’s a creaking sound like a tiny door opening, and next Harry’s yelling, “Happy Christmas, babe!”

 

“What in the name of –” Louis steps out into the hallway, but he doesn’t make it far before a fluffy white cat is bounding toward him and leaping onto the leather sofa behind him.

 

“No!” Louis shouts, turning around to scoop up the cat. “I mean, holy shit, it’s gorgeous.”

 

Niall cackles as Harry grins and disappears out onto the front porch.

 

“Harry told me you were looking for one. And Lauren just brought some cats home from work, and Greg was like, no way, not another, so...” Niall shrugs, watching the white puffy cloud of a cat struggle free from Louis’s grip and run up and down the back of the sofa.

 

“Not used to holding cats, are ya?” Niall laughs.

 

“No I’m fine! Jesus, how old is she?”

 

“Just turned two years,” Niall says. “But still as rambunctious as a newborn kitten, I’d say.”

 

“Wow,” Louis says, mostly to himself.

 

“He’s like you,” Harry says, waltzing back into the room carrying a litter box and litter in one hand and a bag of cat food in the other. “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

 

“Harry,” Louis says. His voice goes raspy as his face heats up. “You’re –” he doesn’t finish the accusation, just dissolves into laughter. “And gee, Niall, you’re a load of help! Look at all that stuff my man just carried solo through the door.”

 

“Hey!” Niall exclaims. “I brought you the best Christmas present of your life. That was first class delivery service there.”

 

“From _me_ ,” Harry says, swaggering forward and pulling Louis into a deep kiss. “I hope you like it. You’ve been pinning and reblogging cat pictures and talking about whiskers on kittens in your sleep for so long I figure this might do the trick.”

 

Niall lets out a long laugh as the white cat pounces onto the back of Louis’s shoulders the second he sits down on the sofa in front of Harry.

 

“Oh my God, Miranda!” Louis exclaims, whipping around and twisting to try to pry the cat off the back of his neck. While Niall is collapsing into hysterics, Harry is pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and pressing record.

 

Niall stops laughing long enough to ask, “Miranda?”

 

Now it’s Harry’s turn to burst into laughter. “Like Lizzie Maguire?”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” Louis asks, head whipping up to pout at Harry and Niall. “I just saw the show on again the other day. Good marathon.”

 

Niall snorts. “I don’t even know what that is.”

 

Louis spends a good half hour playing with the cat, slinging a handful of Harry’s hair ties across the room over and over and giggling endlessly as the cat chases after them like her life depends on it.

 

“Come here, you big ball of fur.” Louis grabs the cat close to his chest and nuzzles his face in it, then pulls back, spluttering and trying to pick cat hair out of his mouth.

 

Miranda gives a long meow and climbs up around Louis’s shoulders again. Louis lies down on the couch, humming contentedly as the cat settles on his chest. Louis thanks Harry over and over around the cat’s tail while Harry sets up the litter box.

 

“Boys, I’m going to get going – fam’s waiting at the house,” Niall says, waving at the pair of them. “Enjoy her, Louis. Send pictures!”

 

“I’ll send loads. Happy Christmas, Niall!” Harry calls.

 

“Thanks, mate!”

 

The second the door slams shut behind Niall, Louis leaps off the couch.

 

“Having fun over there, babe? This isn’t too overwhelming, is it?” Harry asks gently.

 

“Overwhelming? No, it was – Niall kind of – kind of dented my ‘do for a bit there,” Louis says.

 

Harry snorts. “Louis, you’ve been watching too much American TV.”

 

Louis gestures at the 65” flat screen in the corner of the room. Well, we do have one of those.”

 

“Touché,” Harry says. He stands up and holds out his arms for the fluffy white cat, who squirms in Louis’s hands as he dangles her in front of his face and rubs his nose in the nape of her neck. Harry wraps her up in his arms and taps her on the nose. “Hey, Miranda. I live for you, I long for you, Miranda…”

 

Louis rolls his eyes but lets out a long string of laughter just the same.

 

“It was a nice moment, though,” Harry says. “Sorry he showed up in the middle of it. But it was worth it, right? Look at this little fluffy flower child.”

 

“Definitely worth it,” Louis agrees. “She’s perfect. Thank you so much, babe. What do you think, eh? Miranda Styles-Tomlinson.”

 

Harry beams down at Louis and rocks the cat a little bit like she’s a newborn baby. Louis clears his throat and gulps and rubs his palms together and then wipes the sweat off on the couch and then forces a cough out of himself just to see if he’s still capable of making noise. He’s too tense all of a sudden, too wound up.

 

“Sorry,” Louis says. “This is all too much excitement. And I hate to add to it…” he trails off, looking around sheepishly.

 

“But?” Harry prods, letting Miranda pounce to the floor with a resounding _flop_. She skitters off into the corner to spy on the pair from under the TV stand.

 

“Harry…” Louis trails off, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Come on, love, sit next to me, alright?”

 

“Are you trying to scare me? Are you sure it wasn’t too much? Because I can tell Niall –”

 

“No, no, that’s not it,” Louis says. “Shh.”

 

“Okay,” Harry says lowly as he takes a ginger seat next to his boyfriend. Of eight years. His heart still flutters when he wonders how he ever got lucky enough to end up with someone like this. _I must have done something good,_ he sings in his head. He refrains from putting his falsetto to it right now because The Sound of Music is at the bottom of Louis’s list of favorite musicals, to put it nicely, and besides, now doesn’t seem like the right moment.

 

“Darling,” Louis says, and a genuine grin creeps onto his face. His eyes dart back and forth between Harry and Miranda, crouching in the corner and mewing softly every now and then. “You know how everyone knows us as the power couple? Invincible and all that?”

 

Harry stares at him, deadpan. Waits.

 

“Like no one’s ever been together, been close the way we have, and no one can understand what we’ve got?”

 

Harry’s not budging until the man gets to his point.

 

“You know how when you come around, my mum plants a million kisses on your face and you let Lottie do your makeup? You know, if Fizzy doesn’t drag you to the den for a round of Mario Kart first?” Louis’s face is alight now, and he’s on a roll.

 

Harry swallows hard to keep down the family reunion of butterflies that just sprouted wings in his belly.

 

“Yeah,” he whispers softly. “Yeah.” He grins back, unable to keep his toes from curling under his knees as he sits cross-legged.

 

“And you know I’ve been in love with you since day one, and I would have been happy just knowing you knew I cared about you? But then you kissed me, that one night after one of those interviews on the steps, and I knew I was the luckiest kid alive. The boy with the curly mop liked me back.”

 

Harry is breathless. He’s sure his entire face is purple at this point.

 

“I kept waiting for something to break us, and nothing could. There’s an invisible wall around us, love, and there always has been. And it’s the best kind of barrier I’ve known. Nothing can separate us now, it’s like… it’s like you’re my home. No matter where we are.”

 

“Louis…”

 

“And the longer we stayed together, the more I believed it. The more I know you’re the only person I’ll ever feel this way about. And I swear, I swear, the night you said you loved me, on top the rooftop in Toronto, remember?” – Harry’s nodding like his life depends on it – “I felt myself kind of break into a billion pieces. But in the best way a boy can break. Like, I’m weightless with how much you love me. I can do anything. That makes no sense. Does it?”

 

Harry’s nodding and tucking his hair behind his ears over and over and nodding some more. One of his hands covers his mouth and the other is shoved under his jiggling leg.

 

“And you know I’d do anything to keep you around, and make sure you’re safe, and spend the rest of my life reminding you that you’re the most special person in the world.”

 

“Lou…” Harry’s blushing like he never has before, and he looks away for a second to press his hands to his cheeks, hoping they’re cool enough to tone down the flush.

 

When he looks back, Louis is down on one knee in front of the couch.

 

Oh. Fuck. Harry’s heart is no longer a part of his physical body, forget his stomach.

 

“I want to keep you around forever,” Louis continues, looking up at Harry with such earnest big blue eyes that Harry can’t help but let the love come pouring straight out of his own eyes. He reaches out to cup Louis’s face with one hand as Louis pulls a box from his slouchy jacket pocket. “I love you so much,” he says. “Harry Styles, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

 

Harry nearly chokes as he tries to swallow and respond at the same time. He thinks his face will crack from his huge smile as he says, with as much force as he can muster, “Yes. Yes, without a doubt in the world.”

 

The middle-of-the-living-room embrace that follows seems to last an entire decade; at least Harry is pretty sure it lasts the second spin of Frank Sinatra. He’s soaked Louis’s jacket through, not to mention his thin night shirt, and he’s dangerously close to soaking his entire being. His entire _fiance’s_ being. His stomach does a somersault as he thinks it.

 

“I want to keep you around longer than forever,” Harry says. “You’re everything to me, Lou. You have been since the moment I saw you. I know it’s cliché, but –”

 

Louis flashes a soft smirk that glistens with his own small stream of tears. “You know I love cliché.”

 

“Well then,” Harry says. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. I want to do everything with you… Fiance,” he adds.

 

“Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes, it does. God, I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything. Or anyone. Ever.”  


That afternoon, back in bed with an abundance of emotions, Louis runs his foot over Harry’s ankles. Harry hums as he strokes Louis’s rope tattoo at the same time as he pets Miranda, settled on top of Louis’s hip and purring away like she’s never been happier.

 

“You weren’t waiting too long, were you?” Louis asks.

 

Harry grins. “No… Could have been worse, anyway.”

 

“I’m sorry I took forever.” Louis lets out a big breath where he’s pressed up against Harry’s warm chest. “You know how I get; I didn’t want everyone and their mothers to know for a while, but this, living here with you has been perfect. This is all I could ask for and I don’t give a flying fuck who knows.”

 

Harry laughs, shaking Louis’s frame and causing Miranda’s ears to twitch backward.

 

“I couldn’t have put it more eloquently myself.”

 

Louis lets out a little gasp and reaches out to tug at a lock of Harry’s hair that’s curled around and spilling down over his bare chest.

 

“Ooh.” Harry laughs. “Do it again.”

 

                                                                                                       


End file.
